30 A BOOK-LOVER'S HOLIDAYS 



and greasewood. At the foot of the mountain 

 we stopped for a few minutes at an outlying 

 cow-ranch. There was not a tree, not a bush 

 more than knee-high, on the whole plain round 

 about. The bare little ranch-house, of stone 

 and timber, lay in the full glare of the sun; 

 through the open door we saw the cluttered 

 cooking-utensils and the rolls of untidy bedding. 

 The foreman, rough and kindly, greeted us 

 from the door; spare and lean, his eyes blood- 

 shot and his face like roughened oak from the 

 pitiless sun, wind, and sand of the desert. After 

 we had dismounted, our shabby ponies moped 

 at the hitching-post as we stood talking. In 

 the big corral a mob of half -broken horses were 

 gathered, and two dust-grimed, hard-faced cow- 

 punchers, hthe as panthers, were engaged in 

 breaking a couple of wild ones. All around, 

 dotted with stunted sage-brush and greasewood, 

 the desert stretched, blinding white in the sun- 

 light; across its surface the dust clouds moved 

 in pillars, and in the distance the heat-waves 

 danced and wavered. 



During the afternoon we shogged steadily 

 across the plain. At one place, far off to one 

 side, we saw a band of buffalo, and between 

 them and us a herd of wild donkeys. Otherwise 

 the only living things were snakes and lizards. 



